“Becoming a writer”
by Doc House
Summary: Toby remembers back to the exact time he decided to become a writer.


TITLE: "Becoming a writer." AUTHOR: Melissa Orr DISCLAIMER: I don't own them, never will.  
"Here," Sam walked in and handed Ginger a folder. "Make sure Josh reads over this before his meeting with Johnson."  
  
"Okay," Ginger nodded and walked out. Sam turned as she walked out.  
  
"Bonnie," Sam called out. Silence. "Bonnie!"  
  
"Hmmm," Bonnie jumped up from her desk.  
  
"Slow day," Sam said, sarcastically.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"If I can't sleep, you can't sleep," Sam smirked. "Where's Toby?"  
  
"He's still in his office."  
  
"What do you mean still?" Sam asked, looking over at Toby's door.  
  
"Well, when I left last night, he was still sitting in his chair, staring off into space. When I get here this morning, he's in the same spot, doing the same thing."  
  
"He hasn't moved all night?" Sam asked.  
  
"Security told me he didn't even leave the office last night."  
  
"We finished the speech three days ago," Sam said as he opened Toby's door. He was shocked to see the office dark, except the lamp turned on on Toby's desk. "Hey," Sam whispered as he shut the door slowly. He looked into Toby's face and noticed his eyes looking down, and not blinking. "Are you dead?" Sam joked. Toby didn't answer; instead, he just played with his pen and looked down towards the ground. "Well, I can hear you breathing, so you're still living. I know, you're still shocked at the amazing writing I did for the speech. I know, I know. I am the best." Sam smirked at his own joke, but got no reaction from Toby. "Guess what? I caught Leo and the President making out last night," Sam smirked. Still, no reaction. "CJ's pregnant and I'm the father."  
  
"What?" Toby shook his head quickly and looked up at Sam.  
  
"I knew that would do the trick," Sam smiled and sat down. "Bonnie told me you didn't go home last night."  
  
"What time is it?" Toby asked, rubbing his face fiercely.  
  
"It's eight in the morning."  
  
"Oh," Toby didn't seem shocked. "I must have dosed off."  
  
"You weren't sleeping," Sam pointed out. "Everything okay?"  
  
"Sure," Toby nodded. "I was just thinking about something."  
  
"I do that sometimes," Sam smiled, trying to help. "You start thinking about something, and you don't even notice anything else going on around you."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Like a dream," Sam finished.  
  
"Yeah," Toby smiled weakly.  
  
"What were you thinking about?" Sam asked, and then noticed the expression on Toby's face. "Nevermind."  
  
"It's okay," Toby chuckled. "I was remembering the time I decided to become a writer."  
  
"When was that?" Sam asked.  
  
"I was in seventh grade. I remember it being a Tuesday. My sisters woke me up around five in the morning. They told me I had to get dressed because we were taking a trip. I asked them repeatedly about school, but they told me not to worry about it. They took me to the park and we sat in front of this huge stage. When we got there, I noticed thousands of people standing around, just talking. My sisters were gripping my hand, making sure I didn't go anywhere."  
  
"Was it another protest?" Sam asked.  
  
"No," Toby shook his head. "We were there to hear someone speak. We waited for what seemed to be forever until some guy in a suit and tie walked out and stood at the podium. Two men followed him, telling him something I couldn't hear. Everyone got quiet when he raised his hand. When he began speaking, I looked at the two men who were with him moments before, and saw them pacing around, biting what was left of their nails. I remember hearing the words the man was saying, talking about numerous things that at the time, I didn't understand. But I kept my eye on those two men. Each word the man said, made these two flinch. They held papers in their hands and every once in a while they would turn the page."  
  
"They were the speechwriters," Sam concluded with a smile.  
  
"Yeah," Toby smiled. "They were."  
  
"Watching them made you want to become a writer?"  
  
"I watched them, and then looked at the crowd. Everyone was listening to their words. Of course, they weren't saying them, but they wrote them. That's what I wanted. For people to hear my words through the mouths of the most powerful people in America."  
  
"And now you're Communications Director for the President of the United States," Sam smiled. "I think you accomplished that goal."  
  
"Yeah," Toby smiled.  
  
"Are you two going to work today?" CJ barged in. "Why is it so dark in here?"  
  
"I was telling Toby my true feelings towards him," Sam said, flatly.  
  
"Okay, everyone out," Toby demanded.  
  
"Is there something you two want to tell me?" CJ asked before Sam pushed her out.  
  
"It was a joke Claudia," Sam smiled as he reached the door.  
  
"Sam?" Toby called out.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"What made you become a writer?"  
  
"You," Sam said honestly and walked out, shutting the door behind him.  
  
The End 


End file.
